


Girl Talk

by cortchuzska



Series: Of suns and roses [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 04:03:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10070624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortchuzska/pseuds/cortchuzska
Summary: Tyene and I are of an age and have been close as sisters since we were little girls. We have no secrets between us.Shared confidences of a night. Yet little is as it sounds.





	

“Sorry I am late, cousin: I had to grab a quiet moment with father. Sarella was finally busy with a book.... How lucky of Princesses, no siblings underfoot!” Tyene huffed. “Why can't we ship her off to Yronwood as well?”

Arianne grimaced. The mention of Quentyn left a bitter taste in her mouth: a brother fostered by the Bloodroyal, in the few Dornish Houses still keeping to Andal customs, would make little of her birthright.

Tyene tittered. “Pray tell, how come fathers _always_ already know?”

Fathers who cared about their daughters, even when they had been across the Narrow Sea for moons. Prince Oberyn had officially escorted his good-sister for a visit to her relatives in Norvos, as politely said, then taken a detour to other Free Cities on the side.

His squire had been dreaming of Essos since hearing the Red Viper's wondrous tales, but Daemon had taken to bed with growing pains, and being tended to by Arianne was nearly as tempting. The quandary had kept him awake many nights; since sleep is the only remedy to such ailments, his fever spiked for the lack of it and the Prince was forced to leave him behind.

“Did you told yours?” Her cousin chirped.

Hers had been busy with envoys from gods-knew-where, or so Hotah had kept telling his little Princess; a pet name she had come to hate, a sop to a little girl. It tasted sweeter when Daemon went to one knee, called her my Princess earnestly and made her moan; but in him she could sum up all her subjects: no one would call her so for true.

“I would have sooner put it off, but how could I? The Prince called for me to the throne room.”

The last of it was close enough to the truth. She had cornered Ricasso, taking advantage of his failing sight, and wheedled an audience out of him; the Prince of Dorne would sooner listen to peasants' petty pleas than to his own daughter. By this point, Arianne wouldn't have minded appraising Sunspear Great Council, if that was what it took.

“How did it go?”

“My father...” The words didn't come out. A Prince should mind his tongue, she had been taught, for his words cannot be called back. Spoken aloud, hers would make true of what she feared the most. As if she hoped he would change his made: had Doran Martell, ever? “He was very ired.”

“I can hardly figure uncle ired.”

“Not uncle Doran, but the Prince of Dorne: I am his heir.” Arianne lied. “Wish I had been allowed to leave for Norvos.”

“Are you kidding? They'll shave your head and your lady parts, and the only man you'd be allowed to talk to would be your husband.”

Had the lady Mellario ever got to _talk_ to hers? All Arianne remembered was her parents yelling at each other, and the odd brooding silence. She had a notion of a different time, when she was very little, but it was only a fancy that tricked her into believing her family had been happy once. She wouldn't let longing delude her again.

“If you had been there... He didn't go easy on me.”

“Neither father when he trains Obara. You just said it: if yours is so harsh on you now, it's because you will rule after him. ”

“If I could hope you right..." Arianne didn't know what else to say and put forth lightly. "How did uncle took to the news?”

“At times it was almost funny. For he got it wrong at first, not that I laid the blame on him, mind you: Elia was yelling and refusing her bedtime bath, Sarella had to get up from whatever she was reading and lure her with her toy swan ship; in a word, the usual hell. You know how father is, he would assume I was following in Nym's footsteps with the Fowlers, and when I made clearer I had turned to Deziel only after the mishap with Drey, his face dropped, and mine even more. 'Got you good! ' he chucked my chin. He had been joking from the beginning.”

“My father...” Arianne took a deep breath. She wouldn't sob. “He was very upset.”

Arianne had prepared her speech for days and waited for a reaction her father gave no sign of; at last the Prince of Dorne rescued himself from his train of thought. “I have to think about it.”

“Send me a raven, when you are done.”

Arianne curtseyed and ran off. The dismissal stung more than Daemon's clumsiness when he had managed to get through. That was Doran Martell; his words meant the Prince of Dorne did no longer consider the matter worthy of his concern, and he would put the question aside forever.

“He would not make an end to it.” Arianne concluded.

“Fear not i got my fair share of preaching too: a woman grown should learn how to take good care of herself, as if I hadn't been brewing moon tea for some time, since 'Bara never had the patience for proper timing and dosing ingredients.”

Arianne had considered stopping taking hers, but getting with child to rile up her father was stupid. She was not certain the Prince of Dorne would bestir himself.

“He added most men would do anything to get into my smallclothes, but that's not to say they'd do what I want of them, so I'd better keep my wits about me. It's said a woman's best weapon lies between her legs, anyway I should use what's between my ears first; if I don't and I get stuck with someone unfit, it's on me to get out of it, since it's my fault only. He is not going to help.”

As if her uncle would let any harm come to Tyene; it was almost fun hearing the Red Viper vouching for responsibility, but no matter how little he believed his own words, it was what a father ought to say, and he would say it.

Arianne had been disabused of the notion the Prince of Dorne cared about his daughter enough to spare her a husband who would despise and mistreat her.

To this very morning, she had trusted at least to forestall the plans to marry her off Dorne her father likely nurtured: even if he thought too lowly of her to make her his heir, their wary peace with the Iron throne was frail and she still a chip of some worth, nor the first Martell Princess despoiled of her birthright to broker an alliance.

She was pleading Aero to let her in, to no avail; the Prince was conferring with his brother, and not to be disturbed. The door was ajar, for Doran Martell maintained closed ones only showed you had something to conceal, thus defeating their purpose, and his captain's forbidding countenance enough to scare off intruders.

“What about Daemon and her? Your boy is pricklier than a prickly pear, I can tell.”

“That's not going to change my plans. Mellario came a maiden to my bed, for all the good it did.”

“Did you to hers?”

Arianne heard no more, as now she wasn't listening to her cousin, who still prattled on.

“I nodded as any good girl. I got his point, in case I didn't heed his counsel before, I 'd make good use of his lessons after: I haven't forgotten how to milk vipers, and he was welcome to try me. He told me to put down my I-know-it-all air, for he means to show me something not even the Citadel knows of.” Breathless with excitement, Tyene whispered to her ear. “Manticore venom, special from Essos.”

Arianne kept her thoughts to herself. Her father has only taught her a Princess should marry and further her House; as if the world didn't know he had taken to wife a woman of his own choosing instead; not that it had been a happy choice.

“Fine, manticores are a bore to the uninitiated and I talked too much already. Do tell, Arianne, was it that bad with your father? Speaking up will do you good.”

“My father...” Arianne went on spinning her story, not quite sure where it would end up to. “He was sorely disappointed with me, for he meant for my consort a Great Lord.”

“Lord Renly will be visiting soon. I wonder why?” Tyene put in casually.

”Northmen have their pride: I have just to read any history book, the Baratheons do take it very ill, as to betrothals. One doesn't sell damaged goods to the King's brother and I made it even worse by picking a Sand, so far below the Princess of Dorne.”

“Ellaria sits on the dais with the both of you quite often, since your mother left. I can't believe uncle meant it.”

Her words fell flat, nonetheless Arianne wouldn't give in.

“He threatened Ghaston Grey, if the thing with Daemon goes on.”

“You silly! Needed you any more proof your father is kidding... Mine tried to raise Dorne in rebellion, a wee more Ghaston Grey worthy than messing around with a squire, and all he got himself was confinement to the Water Gardens.”

Arianne's eyes welled up despite her cousin's soothing words.

“Listen to me, Arianne. Your handsome Lord has to be catered to some, and Prince Doran only means for his heir to keep up appearances: that is, play the demure lady and you'll get your prize. Any man with a drabble of sense in him will deem himself lucky to wed the Princess of Dorne; as to the notorious Baratheon fury, it's up to your charms to sooth his wounded pride. Trust me, once on his back, only a fool would rather want a prissy.”

Her cousin could have the right of it, albeit unwittingly. If she wouldn't rule in her own right, she still could in her husband's stance; her best bet was seducing him with her wiles, as the beautiful Lady Joanna had Tywin Lannister.

She summoned her pride. “Indeed. Which man would want a Septa in his bed?”

“Which man, but father?” Her cousin laughed, too in a high mood to feel the jab.

For all she spoke like a woman grown who knew her way with men, Tyene was still a child who firmly believed fathers love their daughters, because that's just what fathers do. Arianne childhood had ended with that letter to her brother, before Daemon took her maidenhead and made a woman of her. If she had bedded him, now she realized with some shame, it was in part to get her father back and her childish faith in him, the man who would comfort and chide her, tell her everything would be fine and he loved her as always.

Not even turning back time would work; her father had never loved her to begin with.

_Why do you hate me, father? For being born a woman? For having grown beautiful? For reminding you of her? For being too much like my mother, and not at all like you?_

 


End file.
